


I'm the Man Who Loves You (Inside and Out)

by five_ht



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-25
Updated: 2011-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:24:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/five_ht/pseuds/five_ht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Internal/external prostate massage, porn about belly rubs and making Arthur fall apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm the Man Who Loves You (Inside and Out)

Eames lets himself into his dark hotel room, tossing his bag somewhere near the desk and glancing towards the window. Arthur is standing on the balcony, silhouetted against the near-faded light of the sky, smoke curling up and away from him. He doesn't turn when the door opens, but his cheek is dimpled when Eames' chin comes to rest on his shoulder.

"There's something fundamentally wrong with a job where I end up working longer days than you," Eames says, and plucks the cigarette from between Arthur's fingers.

"Just because I can work from here doesn't mean I'm not working, asshole," Arthur says, leaning back as Eames' arm snakes around his waist.

Taking a drag from the cigarette, Eames lays his palm over Arthur's belly, poking his fingers through the gaps between the buttons and touching warm skin.

"Apologies. Your work ethic is unparalleled," Eames says. "In fact, it's catching; I've been doing some research of my own."

Arthur sighs, and Eames can _feel_ him roll his eyes, "What are you looking for? We're less than twenty-four hours out, we can't change this plan again now."

Eames stubs the cigarette out on the railing, and presses a kiss to Arthur's neck, "Not that kind of research. Come on." He steps away, tugging Arthur's arm until he turns and follows Eames back into the room. A nod toward the bed and a grin is all it takes for Arthur to catch up.

Clothing comes off without ceremony, and Arthur is smirking as they tumble onto the sheets, lying side by side.

"So does this research involve your cock in my ass? Because I think we already figured that one out. I actually think we could call ourselves experts on that subject."

"No," Eames says, then considers, "Well, it can. Not tonight, though, no."

Arthur's eyebrow twitches upward, and he surges forward for a kiss that Eames won't let him pull back from, holding the back of his neck and licking along his teeth until Arthur sighs, a soft, contented sound. When Eames lets him go, he looks marginally less composed than before, which counts as accomplishment.

"Lie back for me," Eames says, nudging at his shoulder. Arthur does, stretching out with his legs open, waiting for Eames to settle between them.

"Are you planning to enlighten me, here?" Arthur asks, as Eames reaches for the lube that the cleaning staff is kind enough to place back on the nightstand every morning.

"It's an experiment," Eames says. He kneels between Arthur's spread thighs and leans down to press a kiss to his chest, "I get to touch you in all sorts of places, and we both make note of how much I can make you scream. Does that sound good?"

Arthur snorts, but he winds his hand into Eames' hair softly, "Whatever you say."

"I'm glad you're catching on."

He gets a smack for that, but then he runs tongue and teeth over Arthur's nipple, which earns forgiveness in the form of a whine. He works his way down in no particular hurry, devoting particular attention to sucking little marks into Arthur's lower stomach, before he stops to pour some lube onto his fingers.

Arthur bends one knee as Eames circles his entrance, and Eames asks, "Ready?" purely out of habit, but Arthur nods anyway. Eames pushes two fingers inside without pause, knowing exactly what Arthur can take and how little he has patience for.

"This is feeling pretty standard so far," Arthur observes, rolling his hips lazily.

Eames ignores him, stroking his fingers up the inside of Arthur's thigh, up across his abdomen, then back down. "Do you know," he says conversationally, "That sometimes when I'm doing this, you put your hand," he takes Arthur's hand and lays it flat on his stomach, pressing it down and listening to the hitch in Arthur's breath, "Right here, like this. Did you know you did that?"

Arthur's brow creases, and it's really not a fair question when Eames is sliding two fingers in and out of his ass, but he considers, applying the pressure himself, his eyes fluttering. "I guess. It feels good, I don’t really think about it."

Eames sighs. "Where would our sex life be without my impeccable observational skills and endless creativity?"

"Missionary—" Arthur's breath catches as Eames spreads his fingers apart, "Missionary position with the lights off, I'm sure."

Eames grins, pushing Arthur's hand away from his stomach and pressing a kiss to his navel, letting Arthur shift and squirm into the right angle, crooking his fingers to help it along.

"I'm going to try something, all right?" he says, lifting his head, "I want you to tell me when you feel it, and tell me if it's too much."

Arthur is getting hard, and his hips give a hopeful twitch when Eames' hand sweeps down his torso, but Eames stops just below his navel. He angles the fingers inside Arthur, crooking them and stroking until Arthur whimpers.

Eames presses his other two fingers lightly into Arthur's belly, and starts to slowly work them down, feeling his way along. He keeps stroking at Arthur's prostate from the inside, and Arthur is moaning, low and deep, and Eames knows exactly when he finds the right spot.

"Oh, fuck," Arthur gasps, like Eames knocked the air from his lungs, "That's, it's, there, _fuck._ "

Eames licks his lips, pressing just a little harder on both sides, as careful as he can manage. "Yeah?" he asks, hoarser than he should be. Arthur nods, his body going tight at the stimulation. "Don't tense, love, relax for me, that's it."

Arthur lets out a whine, but the tension drains again, and Eames starts to massage that spot on his belly while his fingers twist and stroke inside. Arthur is squirming, his back curving off the bed, taking short, stuttered breaths that stall every time Eames moves just so.

"Talk to me," Eames whispers, pressing a kiss to his sharp hipbone, "Tell me how it feels."

Arthur groans, shaking his head. "It's just – it's more, feels like it always feels but it's, just, stronger, fuck—ah, ah," he says, hands twisting in the sheets, "It kind of – kind of hurts, but don't stop, fuck, it's good."

Eames has to fight to keep from increasing the pressure, has to battle with his control, just stroking gently, pressing against nerves, pressing at the soft, pliant parts of Arthur that only he gets to touch.

"Eames, oh," Arthur moans, shuddering into the stimulation, fucking himself down onto Eames' hand, "It's like, it feels _deep_ , the pressure, God."

Arthur's cock bumps against Eames' hand as his fingers knead into Arthur's muscles. He's dripping with pre-come, slick across his skin, and he can't last long with this kind of treatment, with Eames working him from the inside and out.

"Christ," Eames says, shaky and rough, and he's so aroused just from the show, but that doesn't stop him from feeling a certain sense of accomplishment: "I have the best ideas."

The noise Arthur makes probably would be a laugh if he wasn't moaning through it, "You are a – fucking, fuck, piece of work – God, I'm—"

"Yes," Eames says, rubbing little circles on Arthur's belly and pressing up against his prostate from the inside, "Yes, Arthur, come for me."

And Arthur does, his whole body goes taut and he comes with a cry, spilling on Eames' hand and his own stomach. Eames flattens his palm, splaying his fingers out and bracing against Arthur's tensing abs while he fights the clench on his fingers so he can keep stroking, keep dragging it out until Arthur is dripping and spent, sobbing softly at every touch against that oversensitive bundle of nerves.

Eames can hardly control his own breathing, pressing his lips to Arthur's thighs, then his cock, then the tender spot where Eames' fingers had been kneading him. He opens his mouth there, licking and sucking until Arthur's whimpers start to sound a little more like protests.

"Arthur," he says, groping for the lube before he even asks the question, "Can I fuck you right now, please?"

"God, yes," Arthur says, his voice a low rasp, hands grabbing and pulling at Eames with clumsy urgency, "Get up here."

Eames has himself slick in seconds, and he pushes into Arthur with a groan, leaning over him and burying his face in Arthur's neck, damp with sweat.

"Four fingers," he says, panting into Arthur's skin.

"What?" Arthur wraps his legs around Eames' waist.

"Four fingers to make you forget your name, that's all it takes," Eames says, really just stalling until he thinks he can move without coming immediately.

Arthur grunts, another noise that's almost a laugh, "I still remember—"

"Shh, don't lie, love, it's unbecoming."

Arthur rakes blunt fingernails down Eames' back, though his oversensitive body likely can't coordinate much more. "Can you please shut up and fuck me?"

Eames can do that.


End file.
